


I’ll Send a Storm (to Capture Your Heart and Bring You Home)

by parrillawilson



Category: His Dark Materials (TV), His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman
Genre: Angst, Dysfunctional Family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Mother-Daughter Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-04
Updated: 2019-12-08
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:14:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21672772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/parrillawilson/pseuds/parrillawilson
Summary: 'The Station operated where the land seemed endless, surrounded by miles of fresh, unbroken snow. The sky was high and clear, but on the day of its fall, a storm brewed within its walls.'Where Marisa Coulter struggles with motherhood, love and loss.Inspired by promotional pictures for Episode 6 of 'His Dark Materials', 'The Daemon-Cages', in three parts.
Comments: 30
Kudos: 121





	1. Burning Like a Slow Flame, On

The Station operated where the land seemed endless, surrounded by miles of fresh, unbroken snow. The sky was high and clear, but on the day of its fall, a storm brewed within its walls.

Marisa Coulter heard the commotion from inside her room; desperate shouts from her staff as they forced a defiant child towards the laboratory at the end of the hallway. There was nothing the woman hated more than disorder in her operations. With an exasperated sigh, she placed down her cup of tea and walked calmly out into the corridor, unmoved as distant screams reached her ears. A feisty child, she supposed. If it weren’t for checking and double-checking the list of admitted girls, she might have acknowledged her golden monkey’s low growl as more than simple annoyance. The slight twitching of her left eye was the only indication of her fury. Her orders had not been followed. Specific instructions had been given that there were to be no further operations until she was present.

“What is going on in here?” Despite how the child’s screams were muffled within the cage, Marisa’s voice rose as she entered the control room. “I do not like to be disobeyed.” She stepped close to the doctor, the man obscuring her view of the intercision chamber.

“Mrs Coulter! Ah, there was a slight problem with one of the girls, a small hiccup.” He adjusted his glasses, nervously. “We must go ahead with the operation immediately.”

“Why? Who is this child?”

The doctor stepped aside, moving towards the controls that would send the blade down, separating child from daemon and a life of sin. As he did so, Marisa’s piercing gaze fell on the cage and at that moment her heart stopped. Time froze. Nothing existed bar the machine and the rapid pounding against her chest as she stepped forwards, legs carrying her to the glass barrier. A hand rose, darkly painted fingernails slowly reaching forwards. Was her mind playing cruel tricks on her? Could it really be? All she could make out from her distance was a flash of dark hair and a mouth opened wide in horror, breath steaming up the thin rectangle of glass. Her body ran cold, as still as the snow she was so enchanted by. There was no mistaking the Asriel in the trapped girl.

“Stop!” It had been enough to shock her from her stupor. “Do not touch that lever or I will end you myself.” Marisa didn’t wait to see if the doctor had listened; expecting her orders to be followed without a word. There was no time to waste, she had to be certain.

A door thrust open and the woman near-fell out of the control room, lacking in her usual composure. It was then she heard the most beautiful, yet gut-wrenchingly painful sound. It was a scream that would haunt her dreams for months to come and torment her through waking moments.

“ _MOTHER!_ ”

“Lyra?”

She knew? She knew and she was calling for her, for her mother? The title had always seemed misplaced when she imagined herself as the girl’s mother; a girl she had named and then abandoned. For years, only shame filled her heart when she thought of the child she’d lost; the product of her sinful act. Marisa had never guessed she would feel such warmth, such intense love when they were reunited. When she handed her daughter to her lover all those years ago, the child had taken with her a part of her mother’s heart, the only piece that hadn’t broken. Feeling the girl in her arms in Jordan College had slotted it right back into her chest and began healing the numb muscle beside it.

Marisa’s daemon sprung forward before she could will her legs to move, ripping Pantalaimon’s cage open with his sharp claws. His feral screech cut through the child’s screams. Screams that weren’t so dissimilar to that of the tiny, red-faced baby the woman had struggled to comfort twelve years prior.

“Help me. _Please_.”

With a ragged gasp, she tottered forwards, catching herself against her own creation. She had only ever made two things of real value in her life and one had nearly destroyed the other. Marisa yanked open the latch and the heavy door fell open. It collided forcefully with her upper arm, but she barely felt it. “Lyra, darling?” She dragged the girl from the cage without hesitation, out and onto her lap as her golden monkey freed Pantalaimon. The girl thrashed in her arms, calling out for her daemon, her screams of desperation cutting through her worse than the blows from Lyra’s limbs as she struggled. The white ermine was in her child’s arms in an instant and her writhing stopped, small arms pulling her daemon in close. The sobs that followed sickened the mother. She had heard her daughter cry before, the needy, piercing cry of a baby. Marisa hadn’t felt it then, but she felt it now in double strength; the need to soothe the pain of her child, a pain she feared to admit she had partly caused.

“Hush, Lyra. Your mother’s here now. I’ve got you.”

Deep, brown eyes opened and Marisa was taken aback by the sheer amount of emotion she saw within them. Her hand pressed against the side of her child’s face, thumb gently sweeping away her tears. Relief washed over her; she had her daughter back, cradled in her arms for the first time since she was newborn. The mother felt tears of her own spill from her eyes, but she ignored them. She blinked, focusing on the similarities between herself and her daughter until Lyra shifted, catapulting herself upwards. Marisa caught the trembling body, feeling arms clutch around her shoulders as Lyra pressed her face into her neck. 

Oh, how her heart soared.

“Mrs Coulter, did this child call you ‘mother?’” Sister Clara spoke for the first time, her detached voice carrying with it an edge the brunette hated.

Clenching her jaw, Marisa tore her eyes from Lyra and glared at the nurse. “She did. This girl is not, under any circumstances, to have the operation.” Despite the tears staining her cheeks, her expression was fierce, daring anyone to oppose her.

“With all due respect, Mrs Coulter, the child knows too much. We cannot have her mixing with the other girls and boys. She is a danger to us all.”

“She is harmless! I will take her with me to my room and there she will stay until we leave.” Marisa’s unwavering stare held the nurse’s own until she backed down, nodding in acceptance.

Lyra’s small form grew heavy in her arms and she returned her full attention to the girl, shaking her arm gently as her expression softened. “Lyra, my dear, we must go.” Her voice was little more than a whisper. “Come on, now. Listen to your mother, hmm? You can rest soon.”

With a low grunt of effort, Marisa helped Lyra to her feet and began half-supporting, half-carrying her from the intercision chamber. She felt the doctors’ and nurse’s eyes on her as she passed and for once, she despised being watched. 

In the privacy of her room, she lay the child on one side of the queen size bed, ensuring she was comfortable before adjusting the pillows and thick blankets so Lyra would be warm. The girl’s eyes were squeezed tightly closed and she only moved to clutch her daemon to her, mumbling weakly into his white fur. Marisa lowered herself to sit on the edge of the bed, a protective barrier between her daughter and the door leading out into the corridor. She ran her fingers through the girl’s dark hair, smoothing it. Neither moved until the young girl’s breathing evened out. Her grip on Pantalaimon loosened, the daemon slumbering against the bare skin of her neck.

Marisa watched her daughter in wonder, her hand moving delicately from Lyra’s hair to her cheek, fingers grazing her lips, her nose, the scar on her forehead. Leaning down instinctively, the woman pressed her lips to the faint mark, closing her eyes and lingering as long as she dared. As she straightened a sob clawed its way up her throat, surfacing the same moment as she clamped her palm over her lips, blue eyes round. The golden monkey latched onto her back, freely expressing grunts of distress as he drew himself up to Marisa’s shoulder, mimicking Pantalaimon’s loving relationship with Lyra. With a start, Marisa twisted her upper body. The back of her hand swiped violently at her daemon, forcing him to the far corner of the room. She scowled as he whimpered. The physical pain she felt was barely a scratch on the whirling storm of emotion invading her chest.

Lyra’s gentle, sleep-filled murmur broke the tense silence. Closing her eyes momentarily, Marisa willed her loathing away before she was faced again with the resting form of her daughter, so silent and still. It was what she wanted, wasn’t it? Lyra to be sweet, obedient, quiet? Yet her chest constricted all the same. She couldn’t understand why, had never understood her emotions and preferred to shut them out. No matter how she tried, she couldn’t lock out Lyra, there was no wall high enough for her stubborn child. Meeting the girl at Jordan College had awakened a feeling she had grown numb to, a love that burned so fiercely, it tore through her. It had the power to destroy her and she would let it, gladly, if it meant her daughter was safe.

The child stirred and Marisa edged closer, careful not to disturb the sleeping girl as she lay beside her, body propped up against her elbow. Gentle fingers returned to smoothing the girl’s hair. Bending down, her nose grazed Lyra’s thick, brown locks as she inhaled the scent of her child, eyes closing against the sting of tears.

“I love you, Lyra.”

Four words held more meaning than any Marisa had uttered over her thirty-five years; a hushed whisper, a truth she could no longer deny to herself. The flame burned too brightly, illuminating the darkness in one woman’s heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed the first part! I have another two planned out if people enjoy and would like me to continue. 
> 
> The song which the fic and chapter titles are based on is called 'Storm Song' by PHILDEL. I was inspired by a fan video created by 'oceanssapart' on youtube. I highly recommend giving their work a watch, and the song a listen!
> 
> Please let me know what you think of my fic so far in the comments. This is simply my take on how I would have the events of the next episode play out. I absolutely love the dynamic between Marisa and Lyra, it has so much mileage and is fun to write!


	2. Oh, I've Made the Mistakes

There was no natural light inside The Station; the walls were built thick and sturdy to keep out the bitter cold. The harsh white light of the lamps brightened Mrs Coulter’s room, allowing her to study every delicate feature of her child’s face. It was late, past midnight if her growing fatigue was any indicator, but she fought against her drooping eyes. Sleep was not an option. Even though she had hardly slept in weeks, obsessing desperately over finding Lyra and bringing her home, she forced herself to remain alert. Finally, her efforts had succeeded; Lyra was back where she belonged, with her mother. If anyone so much as attempted to separate them again, she would cut the perpetrator down without a second thought. Already, she had intentions of making each one of her staff suffer greatly for their involvement in endangering her child. The truth of Lyra’s relation to her was kept as mysterious as the truth of the General Oblation Board. Although many were aware she once had a child; a baby born in shame and cast away, few dared to mention it. The baby girl had become a distant memory, a ghost that haunted her throughout the years, growing fainter as she rose back to power. In the end, power couldn’t quell the buried need to protect her child.

“Oh, Lyra. How ever did you come to be here?” Her light, melodic voice held a note of fear, trembling faintly. Never would she normally allow such vulnerability to seep through her composure, but alone with her sleeping child, she allowed herself to _feel_. There were few alternatives. The horror of what she had witnessed, the sheer terror existing only in her darkest nightmare, was more powerful than anything she had felt before. She couldn’t focus on anything else and reached for her daughter’s limp hand, anchoring herself. “I will never let you go again, not ever.” Her whisper was no less soft and sweet, but a fire burned within her bright eyes.

As requested, not a soul disturbed the fractured pair. Marisa lay beside her sleeping child, lost in thought as she held her hand and caressed her cheek, the mixed thrill and horror of Lyra returning to her in such a way keeping her awake. An hour passed, maybe two, before a low moan of discomfort escaped the girl, her forehead furrowing in turmoil.

“Lyra, darling? You’re okay, you’re dreaming. Open your eyes, Lyra.” As she spoke she lifted herself up, her right arm fuzzy and numb from where she had lain uncomfortably for so long, too enraptured by her daughter’s presence to care.

Marisa noticed how the girl’s form, nearly swallowed up by the large bed, had begun to tremble as she moaned; a horrid sound that the older brunette wished she could banish. Standing up, she retrieved an extra blanket from an armchair near the door and draped it over her child. It did nothing to reduce her shakes and Marisa hesitated. How cold could she be?

“Never! Never! Never!” Lyra cried out, her body whipping this way and that, both blankets sliding to the floor.

“Lyra! You must wake up now. Do stop struggling, you’re safe. You must be so cold. I have blankets. Come on now, dear.” There was no indication the girl had heard her mother’s rising voice, each word a little more desperate than the last. Gone was the peaceful silence of a sleeping child and already Marisa was completely out of her depth. “ _Lyra!_ ” That did it. Brown eyes shot open at the same moment a white ermine flew past her vision, clutching with all his might at the girl’s shoulder.

“ _Pan_ ,” One word held intense feeling, more than Marisa could compute, and she watched in silent jealousy as Lyra clutched at her daemon who had been separated from her in her struggle. “Pan, oh Pan.” As the girl gained comfort from her daemon, the little thing nuzzling her back to herself, Marisa bent to collect the fallen blankets. She turned, uncertainty in every movement, every word.

“Lyra…you’re cold? Or thirsty, perhaps? Let me look after you.” A twinge of irritation encompassed her tone, provoked by an overwhelming need to be obeyed, to be in control.

“I—I en’t…I en’t cold!” Lyra refused to tear her eyes from her daemon and, as Marisa moved closer to sit on the edge of the bed, they shut tightly, blocking the woman out. The young girl’s quaking form shook less violently with each second that Pantalaimon was in her arms.

The hopeless mother released her grip on the blankets and said nothing. Her daemon tugged them away to his corner of banishment and she watched with disdain as he bundled one up, cradling it in his human-like arms.

A great and furious sob from her child caused an animalistic growl to fade to nothing in the woman’s throat. She turned, all traces of fury concealed with a gentle tenderness as she leapt at the opportunity to console her daughter. “Hush now, darling. You’re safe, you’re okay.” The sobs kept coming. Lyra sobbed and sobbed and Marisa leant down with tender hands to caress and soft lips to kiss away the pain. Lyra clung to her, tighter than ever before. “You can cry as much as you need to, Lyra. Let it all out, I’ve got you.” She couldn’t deny that a part of her felt some essence of happiness during such a terrible moment. Her daughter was in her arms. She wasn’t running from her or disobeying. Marisa felt needed, _wanted_ , for a few minutes at least.

Helping her daughter sit up against the headboard, muttering sympathetic noises as Lyra’s cries reduced to gentle whimpers, Marisa smiled a true smile. “You’re okay now, Lyra. Everything is alright.”

The shift in the girl was instant and unrelenting. “No! No, get away. Get away! Nothing is alright, nothing!”

Marisa’s smile faltered as she was pushed back, away from Lyra. Her breath caught in her throat, mouth dropping open in disbelief at her daughter’s sudden change in behaviour. “Lyra...” It was all she could do to utter the girl’s name.

“ _No_.” One arm held Pantalaimon tightly as the other straightened, stopping the woman from moving any closer.

“Listen to me,” Marisa enclosed her hand around Lyra’s, only for it to be snatched away as the distressed girl recoiled against the headboard. “Lyra, listen. You must listen—oh!” A hardback book flew past her shoulder, narrowly missing, only for another to make its mark. The golden monkey dropped the blankets he had been cradling with a yelp. That had _hurt_. Distracted, the older woman was not prepared for what came next. Her daughter; her wilful, courageous and frustratingly fearless child leapt from the bed and made a beeline for the door. Thankfully, Lyra had inherited such traits from her parents; though the graceful woman loathed to admit it. Marisa threw her body against the mustard-coloured door a millisecond before her daughter reached it. Her breathing was panicked and she let out a low grunt as the girl collided into her. “Lyra, stop!” Her demand fell on deaf ears, tone not as strong as it might once have been.

Lyra didn’t stop. Despite the human barrier in the form of Mrs Coulter, she clawed at the door, sobs returning full force as she frenziedly lashed out at her mother. Every muscle in Marisa’s body ached to lurch forward, to send her golden monkey barrelling into Pantalaimon and cease such uncontrolled madness. Restraint was unnatural, completely alien to the woman, but she knew if she made that move she would lose Lyra again. Such a thought alone was unbearable and so Marisa didn’t retaliate, though her hand itched to strike. Instead, with immense self-control, she captured Lyra’s flailing arms within her own, waiting for her little tornado of a child to calm.

“Iorek will come here, you’ll see! He’s an armoured bear and he’ll rip your heart out! For me, for Billy!” Lyra yelled. The girl was doing a fine job of that without the assistance of an ice bear.

Marisa winced, the shrill shrieks piercing her eardrums, and held the struggling girl closer, tighter. It was the less violent and, she hoped, more motherly option for soothing such fiery anger. The words and threats Lyra screamed weren’t what hurt her the most. The brunette had heard much worse in her lifetime. It was the sheer level of pain she felt radiating from the girl that made her throat tighten uncomfortably, slowly suffocating her. She was her _mother_ , wasn’t she? So why was her daughter still crying, struggling to escape her arms?

Eventually, Lyra’s petite form stilled. Exhausted, raspy breaths were the only reminder of her fury. “Now, Lyra,” Marisa began, lowering herself to whisper into the girl’s ear. “If you promise not to run, I’ll let you go. We have much to discuss. Please, my darling. Promise me?” Her tone left no room for defiance, yet stemmed from a fear of losing what she had come to hold most dear.

“I promise,” came the muffled response.

Releasing her precious prisoner, Marisa watched through sorrowful eyes as the child stepped backwards, feeling her way behind her for the bed as her defiant glare proved the woman had not won her over yet. Why couldn’t the child have remained sleeping for longer?

“Lyra, I don’t know what you’ve heard, what you’ve been told, but you have to understand that what happened tonight was not my doing. I never for a moment imagined you would end up here. I checked the list, you weren’t on it.” Her confusion returned at how any of the night’s horrors had been allowed to happen.

“I know. Gave them a fake name, didn’t I.” Lyra sat against the headboard with a satisfied smirk playing on her lips. 

“Clever girl,” Marisa replied in an even tone, reclaiming her seat on the edge of the bed, torso twisted towards Lyra. She watched an array of emotions pass through the girl’s eyes, only able to identify the last as fury. Quick to anger, just like her father.

“I know it’s you. It’s all you! You’re the head of the Gobblers.”

It was an accusation she had expected. “You’re a bright girl, you care so deeply and that’s admirable, but Lyra…” She paused, sighing at the resentful glare Lyra gave her. “The General Oblation Board will save all of humanity for generations to come. What we do, we do for the good of everyone.”

“Billy died,” Lyra’s voice hitched with a sob, “He died and it was horrible, the most horrible thing, without his daemon. That en’t good, it en’t right, I know it!”

“Lyra, when I told you I knew little about dust, I wasn’t entirely truthful.” Marisa heard the girl scoff and elected to ignore it. “You were correct in thinking that dust does not affect children. It is when your daemon settles that the effects of dust commence and children start to think all sorts of terrible, sinful thoughts. There is a way to stop it; a little cut, but this operation is not yet faultless.” She paused, swallowing heavily. Never had she considered explaining her work to Lyra, not even in such brief terms, but the girl left her with no choice. “Every boundary in experimental theology requires the sacrifice of the few for the many. I never wished for anyone to be harmed, but my work is important; necessary. It will change the world.”

“How can I believe you? You lied to me. You lied to me about _everything_. Rodger is here. My best friend. You said you was looking for him, but you never! I bet you knew where he was all along. Just like you knew Asriel was my father and you were...” Lyra trailed off, picking at the plain sheets covering the mattress.

“Your mother,” Marisa finished for her, eyes glassy. “Who told you?”

“Ma Costa. The Gyptian nurse who looked after me as a baby.” Lyra kept her gaze trained downwards no matter how many attempts Marisa made to catch her eye, to connect with her.

“I wanted to tell you.” The admittance escaped her, involuntarily.

“But you didn’t.”

“No, I—no.” Perhaps it was the unusual tremble to her voice or the rare honesty, but Lyra finally looked up, eyes soft for a moment before they hardened.

“I wouldn’t have wanted you anyway. I wish Ma Costa was my real mother.” Those brown eyes narrowed so ferociously Marisa had to look away. For a countless time since the girl had woken, she felt hurt; not a feeling she was familiar with, nor one she wished to experience again. If she could reach into her chest, rip out her heart and seal it in a Lyra-proof box, she would. Perhaps one day there would be a machine for _that_.

“It’s just as I told you before, Lyra. If you’re not in someone’s life, they can forget you quite quickly. I would have moved on, just as I did after you were born, for the first twelve years of your life.” Such cruel words rooted in hurt. If she couldn’t lash out physically, verbally would have to suffice. Her pain was too severe to keep caged inside. Lyra visibly deflated, a sight the mother found herself despising, wishing that she could reverse such poisonous words. “I forgot you, yes, but Lyra. Oh, Lyra, my sweet child…” She leant forwards, a hand ghosting over Lyra’s hairline, tucking a dark lock behind the girl’s ear. “When The Station was built and the first children were brought to Bolvangar, I remembered that I had a child of my own.” She smiled at the memory. “A child born in sin and shame, but my child all the same. I came to Jordan for you. I met you and I knew you belonged with me, where I could keep you safe. I wanted you then, just as I want you now.”

“You don’t even know me,” Lyra accused.

“That is true.” Marisa scooted further up the bed, risking another possible rejection as she stroked Lyra’s cheek. “We will have plenty of time to get to know each other now. That, I promise you. I want to know all about you, my dear. Your favourite pastimes, your likes, dislikes…how you came to have that scar on your forehead.” She brushed the indent, tenderly. “You can even tell me some tales of your own; stories from your childhood, with Rodger?” She added the latter in the hopes of connecting with her child, gaining the girl’s trust. “Perhaps he can join us, hmm? You would like that, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes, I would. If it weren’t all a _lie_.” Lyra wasn’t budging. How ever had Marisa birthed such a disgracefully stubborn child?

Marisa smiled, sweetly, sparing a sideward glance at her growling daemon, daring him to make a single move towards Pantalaimon. “Now, now, Lyra. I have no reason to lie to you, not anymore.” She was a master manipulator, an expert in having her way. Of course, Rodger would not be joining them, she would see to that. However, he proved to be a useful bargaining chip when it came to her child. “I only want to keep you safe. That is all I have ever wanted and I can only ensure that when you are by my side.” Now, she spoke the truth. Her eyes stung with the honesty of her words, going against her very nature to protect Lyra. “You are my daughter and I would do anything to protect you, but you have to allow me to continue my work in peace. No more running, no more conspiring with Gyptians. You must put all of your trust in me.” She paused to press a gentle kiss to the top of her daughter’s head, the golden monkey darting forwards when only Pantalaimon could see, his small hands feeling for the oilskin pouch around Lyra’s waist. “Now is the time to choose a side. I won’t force you to join me, but I hope you understand now that it is what is best for you.”

Lyra’s expression was unreadable for a long moment before the sweetest of smiles graced her face. “Okay. Okay, I’ll come with you…mother.”

Perhaps if Marisa had succeeded in building an impenetrable barrier around her heart, if she had listened to her exceptionally intelligent brain rather than the pathetic, beating organ within her chest, she would not have made such an irreversible error.

“Wonderful!” she breathed, her beautiful face brightening with deep, maternal love. “Now, Lyra, dear. The Master gave you something to keep safe, didn’t he? An alethiometer?” Blue eyes glanced at the pouch as a hand extended to calm the golden monkey’s raised hackles. “It’s in that bag around your waist, isn’t it? Can I see it?” Lyra untied the pouch, revealing a tin and holding it out for Marisa to inspect. “Oh, what a strange tin. You have certainly kept it safe.” The woman reached into her handbag for her pocket knife and began to break the seal which bounded the illegal device. Lyra would never be safe from the Magisterium with an alethiometer in her possession. 

An unexpected buzzing filled the room as Marisa forced the tin lid free. The golden monkey leant forward with interest and before she could slap him away, a familiar contraption shot up and out of the tin, hitting her daemon hard. The impact wounded her, but as she gasped in shock, the spy-fly flew at the woman’s face, sending her sprawling to the ground. She watched helplessly as the door swung open. Lyra running from her was so cruelly displayed before her eyes. The girl’s ankles moved too quickly for Marisa to grab, though she tried anyway, before hauling herself up as the door closed with a finite bang. Her daughter had tricked her, played her so astonishingly well at her own game. If it weren’t for the blinding anger, the searing pain possessing her very being, she would be proud. An animalistic, vicious scream tore from her lungs and she braced herself against the door with the force of it. Such mistakes had been made in trusting the daughter of a seasoned liar, her own flesh and blood. Marisa ripped open the door, sending it crashing brutally against the wall as The Station erupted into chaos. Pausing in the doorway, her striking face was ignited by the glaring scarlet of the fire alarm as it flashed violently. She tensed, feeling the clawed hand of her daemon tentatively brush her own and her cold expression crumbled, broken by the intensity of her emotions. Instead of smacking the golden-furred daemon away, she clutched at his hand agonizingly tight. The distressed mother dug her nails into his flesh and drew long, shuddering breaths as her daemon's shrieks were engulfed by the deafening siren. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked the second part! This was perhaps the most difficult to write as there is so much that could be said between these two and many directions it could have taken! I aim to have the final part up on Sunday, before the episode airs. Please leave a comment and let me know what you think so far!


	3. You'll Never Find Me, Gone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is, the final chapter as promised and the first fic I have ever completed, hehe!
> 
> This wraps up the three-part fic. Remember this is entirely based on my own speculation from trailers, the books, etc. I have no knowledge of how the episode will go tonight (though I am extremely excited!)
> 
> TW: self-harm - due to the nature of Marisa's relationship with her daemon, particularly in this chapter (albeit briefly), I feel it is important for me to note this just in case.
> 
> I hope you enjoy the chapter! I am sure I may write more about these two in the future when inspiration strikes!

Before long, the corridor was crowded with a sea of children. Each way Marisa turned, there came more, bursting from the dormitories and running with a purpose. As she forced her way through the crowd, her face a mask of serenity, she stopped each child who even slightly resembled Lyra. It was fruitless, she knew as much; her girl was gone. The golden monkey swung up to her shoulder and for once she allowed him to perch there, black eyes seeking out the child as desperately as his human counterpart.

A rumble stopped her in her tracks, mouth opening in panic as she swung herself in the direction of her invention. Before she could take another step a deafening explosion brought upon a mass of screams and yells from the scurrying children. Her composure broke as she pushed herself upstream through the swarming river of bodies, all hurrying to pass her. Marisa let them go, only two things on her mind.

Reaching the heavy door to the control room, the woman yanked it open with a scowl. She rushed into the destruction, eyes widening in horror at the sight of her creation, destroyed beyond repair. The lights were dimmed, but she could see through the harsh flashing of red that every control panel had been smashed and her intercision machine was little more than a pile of rubble on the ground. Her golden-furred daemon let out a screech and flung himself through a shattered hole in the glass. It was then Marisa saw his target through the thick smoke; an arctic fox, leaping towards the far door, beside him a child who was all too familiar.

“ _LYRA!_ ” she roared, her expression growing haggard with fear and fury as she clenched her fists, holding herself back from following her daemon through the smashed glass. The golden monkey barrelled into Pantalaimon, knocking him back and pinning him down with a vicious snarl. Part of the roof had caved in, freezing the air almost painfully so. With nothing more than a low growl, Marisa turned, marching away from her golden monkey who kept her daughter and her daemon from escaping. She left the laboratory, ignoring the aching of her muscles, growing heavier with each step. In her room, she found her furs and pulled them tightly around her body. Each second she spent so far apart from her daemon pained her, but she welcomed the sensation, diverting her focus from the clenching in her chest. Before long, she was again in the intercision room, no longer with any distraction to protect her heart from Lyra’s anger. She approached the girl who lay on the ground, writhing most undignified. “You promised. You promised me…and yet you trick me, destroy my work, run from me a second time?” Her tone was harsh, menacing, but Lyra would see as she turned blue eyes brimming with unshed tears.

“You won’t win. I’ll never come with you. Never! I’ll stop you. I’ll stop you all!” Lyra’s shrill voice was unyielding.

“Oh, my darling.” Marisa smiled, sickeningly sweet, as though amused by the child’s words. “I made you. You are mine and I have you now.” She bent to reach down, hand inches from Lyra’s shoulder before a second explosion shook the room and suffocated the air with a thick fog of ash. The golden monkey lost his tight grip on Pantalaimon and the smaller daemon vanished into the fog. “ _No!_ ” The woman’s shouts were met with the shrieking of the monkey, both feeling the loss worse than they had in their own separation.

The fog began to clear and Marisa saw that the explosion had in fact been another part of the roof caving in. A groan caught her daemon’s attention who scampered wildly around the rubble. The woman’s heart spiked with concern and she delicately maneuvered herself through the fallen brick towards the sound. Nurse Clara lay within the rubble, her blonde hair coated in blood. Marisa fought through her relief and fury as she knelt beside the woman, regarding her hatefully.

“Mrs Coulter,” came the weak, monotonous voice, “Help me.”

“Now, why ever would I help _you_?” she began, ignoring the sting of her knees as she slid closer to the fallen nurse, “You dared to harm my daughter. You deserve to suffer indefinitely.”

“She told us her name was Lizzie,” came the emotionless woman’s reply, “We could never have known.”

“You should never have operated the intercision machine when I expressly commanded you not to. I could have lost her, and if I had, your miserable life would no longer be worth living,” Marissa threatened through gritted teeth.

A sneer twisted the woman’s face, a rare display of emotion that caused Marisa to falter. “It would seem that you’ve already lost her. You have caused her more pain than we ever could.” It was a mistake to taunt a protective mother, much less one as ferocious as Mrs Coulter. In a flash, the vicious woman had her hands firmly around the nurse’s neck, forcing her down and choking the life from her. With no daemon, no soul, it was mere moments before the offender lay lifeless in her arms.

The wasteland of ice surrounding The Station had broken into a battlefield. Heavily-armoured Tartars fought Gyptians while children sprinted away from the chaos. Mrs Coulter walked, flanked by multiple Tartars, with an air of confidence in her step. If there was one skill the woman had mastered throughout her years, it was the ability to hold up a mask, steel her features even though she may be at boiling point inside.

Barking an order in the language of the Northern Tartars, two of them peeled away from the group to follow her demands and Marisa felt a new wave of true power wash over her. Lyra was a _child,_ there was no chance of her besting her. In the midst of the fighting, the woman and her human shield sought out the girl before she could be alerted of their approach. Marisa no longer cared for following her softening heart. She had tried kindness, affection and care. No matter what she did, her daughter was unwavering in her hatred. Lyra was slipping through her fingers and she feared if she didn’t do what must be done, she would lose her forever.

A savage yowl of rage cut through the battle cries like a searing hot knife. As the golden beast zipped through the air, snow began to fall; a thick, blinding blizzard. Marisa followed the screech of her daemon to where Lyra lay, winded in the snow. “I gave you a warning and you did not obey me.” Grabbing hold of her daughter’s shoulders, she began dragging her towards a waiting motorised sledge. The golden monkey slashed his sharp claws at Pantalaimon, biting and scratching as he forced him along. “You _drove_ me to this.” Marisa’s face contorted with wild emotion, unable to keep her neatly-positioned mask in place around her daughter. “You must learn to control yourself. You are a feral, shameful child!” The anger within her boiled at such a rate it could no longer be contained. Years of bottling up her emotions had caught up with her and there was nowhere else for them to go but out. She had dreamt nights upon nights about her perfect, angelic child. An imaginary, sweet girl who loved her and did as she asked without question; a girl who simply did not exist.

“Help. Help! Iorek? Farder Coram? Ma Costa, _help!_ ” Lyra’s screams shattered her daydream.

Another order was barked at the Tartars and the chief, who had seen Mrs Coulter’s struggles, lifted Lyra as though she weren’t human at all, roughly dropping her into the sledge where she lay in a daze. As Marisa turned to join her, to shield her from the cold and hold her close, a small but mighty body battered into her own. The child hit out at her, powered by untamed fury and Marisa recognised him as she turned; Rodger, the boy her daughter was so obsessed with. Before the golden monkey could strike, a Tartar soldier batted the boy away from her as if he were a pestering fly. Again, Marisa moved to climb onto the sledge, could see her daughter’s deceivingly angelic face through her furs, but that blasted boy was back, pulling her coat and kicking at her shins. He was no match for Mrs Coulter, not even through a whirlwind of anger, but he distracted her long enough that once she had shaken the little thing from her leg and turned back towards the sledge, her daughter had vanished. Rodger began rising up into the air and Marisa saw with an outraged gasp that he was dangling from her own daughter’s arms as she was lifted higher by a witch. A roar of loss tore from the woman in one heavy breath. Tartars posed to shoot, but were frozen with a lack of orders, awaiting her command. She _couldn’t._ The risk of one of their bullets hitting her child was too high; it was the only outcome more agonising than the one that came to light. Snowflakes, tears and vicious wind blurred her vision as she watched Lyra disappear into the blizzard and shouted her command. “Stand down…and prepare the airships.”

Blood stained the snow red and lonely bodies littered the battlefield of ice. Marisa leant her forehead against the clear glass of her private zeppelin, watching the sunrise. Her favourite moment, as she had told Lyra long ago, was early morning, so why did she feel so empty?

She had been lost in silent thought ever since they took to the air, ignoring each and every servant who tried to attend to her. Her only orders were for Lyra to be followed, found and returned to her unharmed. Perhaps five airships full of armed Tartars was a little excessive, but Marisa was a mother; a mother who would not stop until she found her child. Motherhood, she realised, was not as simple as she had first anticipated, but she could not bear to let Lyra go. It felt more agonizing and unnatural than her separation from her daemon. Marisa didn’t know how to love very well, but Lyra had dived deep into her chest and captured her heart. Finding her daughter and bringing her home was now her highest priority. As much as the intense, unfamiliar feeling scared her, Marisa knew she would fight until her dying breath to keep Lyra safe.

* * *

_“I’ll send a storm to capture your heart and bring you home._ _  
Oh, carried on the breeze, you’ll never find me, gone.  
Oh, faster than the post train, burning like a slow flame, on.  
I’ll send a storm to capture your heart and bring you home.” _ **~ Storm Song, Phildel**


End file.
